Markings
by Aerial312
Summary: After Ziva comes back from an investigation mad at McGee, Tony talks to both of them to get to the heart of the problem.


Tony looked up from his phone call as the elevator dinged and Ziva and McGee came into the bullpen. Ziva looked particularly cross, Tony noted, listening only halfway to the Metro dispatcher on the other line. She slammed her backpack down on the desk, storming out. McGee looked uncomfortably after her. Tony cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Right, I said add those tattoos to the BOLO," Tony repeated into the phone. "Marine Staff Sergeant Jake Douglas. Six four. Blonde. Semper Fi on the left forearm. A bald eagle sharpening his claws on his back. Yes, really. Full back. Thanks." Tony hung up, rolling his eyes. "Dumb as a rock."

"There tattoos are a new bit of info though?" McGee asked.

"I found them in his annual physical report."

"We found a big cache of assault rifles at his house. Up in the attic crawl space. They're on their way to Abby."

"What did you do to piss her off?" Tony asked.

McGee sighed. "I didn't mean to."

Tony chuckled. "No, I'm sure you didn't mean to. No one would voluntarily incur her wrath."

"You do all the time."

Yeah, he did, didn't he? "So what did you do _today_? She looked pretty pissed."

McGee frowned, and looked around the bullpen, before turning back to Tony. "I had to boost her up into the attic—there was no ladder—"

"Don't tell me you made a stupid crack about her weight."

"No!" McGee insisted. "I learned that lesson the hard way with Kate."

"Oh, I'm sure Kate made you pay for that," Tony laughed. "So?"

McGee looked around the room again and got up, crossing closer to Tony's desk.

"Is what you said to her that bad that you need to be super secretive?"

"It's…" McGee hesitated.

"You were boosting her up and then…"

"Well, she's got that loose shirt on, and—"

"You could see up it."

"Right."

"That pissed her off?" he asked skeptically. It didn't sound like Ziva. She'd feign annoyance, sure, but she had looked seriously angry about what happened when she entered the squad room.

McGee shook his head, and after another furtive glance around, asked quietly, "Have you ever seen the scars on her sides?"

Ah. That. Tony nodded. "What did you say?" he asked, cringing.

"I…gasped… then when she demanded what I was gasping about, I didn't know what to say, and made things worse."

Tony sighed, partially wanting to abandon this conversation with McGee and seek out Ziva. "She's very self-conscious about them," Tony noted.

"They're awful," McGee commented, looking pained.

"Awful?" That hadn't even crossed his mind when he'd seen them. "I sure hope you didn't say that to _her_," Tony glared.

"I didn't," McGee assured him quickly. "I told her how sorry I was—"

"She hates pity."

"I know that now."

"They've healed a lot."

"You saw them when they were new?"

Tony shook his head. "In Paris. That was, what, four months later? They'd already begun to heal."

He remembered that moment well. It was one of the first times she'd opened up to him at all about Somalia.

"How did you respond?" McGee asked curiously.

"I stared, yes, but I got to really look at them—"

"She let you-?"

"Yes." Now it was Tony's turn to look quickly to see who was around. He continued, more quietly, "This is for your ears only."

McGee nodded.

"She would have had a lot less scarring if she had left what Saleen had…carved, but—"

"Why-?"

"Let me finish. He'd carved horrible, hateful things—" 

"Oh, god."

"Right. She had the courage to cut until they were illegible."

"Wow."

Tony nodded solemnly. "Wow indded."

Their conversation was interrupted by McGee's phone ringing. "Remember, your ears only. Not even Abby," he told McGee as he took the opportunity to seek out Ziva. He expected to find her in the ladies' room, but she nearly barreled into him in the hallway behind the stairs.

"Sorry. I was not looking…" she said quickly, starting back for the bullpen.

"I was looking for you."

She paused, not looking at him. "Why?" she demanded.

"How are you doing?" he asked, stepping in closer.

"I am fine."

"Are—"

"I am not having this conversation in the hallway."

Before she could escape, he grabbed her hand and led her down the hall to men's room. He was kind of surprised she hadn't protested. Maybe she really did want to talk about it. He checked that it was empty and locked the door. When he turned back to her, she was leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

"I assume McGee told you what happened?"

"He did," Tony answered, standing close, but not too close.

"I thought they had gotten better," she told him quietly. Her voice broke as she added, "I guess not."

"Hey," he brought his hand up to cup her cheek.

She jerked her head away. "You should have seen how disgusted he was. They're hideous."

"He was surprised, is all," he assured her, knowing that to be true from his earlier conversation. He drew his hand up to her cheek again, brushing away the tear that had escaped her clenched-shut eyes. "And they're not hideous. His only point of reference was that old-super hot-picture of you in the bikini from California. But I don't think that someone who doesn't have that point of reference would think they were that bad. Does that make sense?"

She nodded. "Ray never said anything."

Tony suppressed his scowl. He sure didn't like to think about the context of Ray seeing her scars.

"I bet they're way better now than when I saw them in Paris. And they were already healing well then."

She opened her eyes to look at him now, taking a deep breath. "You have a point of reference, and you did not freak out when you saw them either." She leaned into his hand.

"You let me really see them, not just a glance. And you explained what happened. I told you—and I still believe it—that I thought it showed so much strength what you did."

Ziva scoffed.

"Really. I mean that." He took her hand. "I…uh…explained it to McGee."

He braced for her response, but she merely nodded. "Thank you. I didn't want to have to explain…"

"I know."

She studied him for a moment, then something changed in her expression. "They have gotten better since Paris." She released his hand and pulled up the hem of her shirt to show him. He smiled. "What?" she demanded.

"The first thing I noticed his how hot and toned your abs are," he grinned.

"You're just saying that," she argued, but she was fighting a smile.

He looked closer. All the lines were white now. There were still a lot of them, of course, but they were fainter now. He grazed his knuckles along marked skin. She shivered. The puckering was less, and it truly was less noticeable. "It looks a lot better," he told her truthfully.

She let the shirt fall back into place, and rose on her toes to kiss him quickly on the lips. "Thank you," she told him, and then exited the men's room.

Tony stood rooted in place for a moment. She'd just kissed him. Other than being on the lips, it really wasn't different from kisses delivered to his cheek or his forehead, but it felt different. He'd gotten through to her, she'd let him in, they made progress and they moved on. He liked that new style of interaction.


End file.
